When Stuff Hits the Fan

When the S.H.T.F. (“stuff hits the fan” is the polite form) and society collapses, everything we trust about our daily lives will take a beating. Lots of people are spending a lot of time and money getting ready for the apocalypse.

All city people need to pay attention to this and be prepared. Folks in the country are good to go.

City people, stock up on food. During the apocalypse you won’t be able to go eat at the mall. The mall will be full of looters stealing TV’s and hair extensions. You’ll have to actually cook. There is probably a thing called a stove in the kitchen, so now is the time to familiarize yourself with it.

Country folks already have food. It was preserved from the garden. The meat probably isn’t from the deli case; it’s from the farm or hunting and fishing. Cooking it comes natural to those in the country so it can be done on a stove, grill, rock, or on the exhaust manifold of a truck. We’re good on this one too.

City folks stock up on medicines. You need to have a supply of your hair growth drugs and those little pills that keep your feelings from being hurt.

Country folks generally just need aspirin, Vicks Vapo-Rub, and duct tape. If we need something else, some of our neighbors will have it or know of a suitable substitute. For example, we don’t need pills for hurt feelings. We just take a big swig of “walk it off” and we’re good.

Some people say to stockpile firearms and ammunition for self protection. I know city people have guns. I see it on the TV every night.
City folks, get rid of your guns. You don’t know how to use them. Every time you pull the trigger you end up shooting a Grandma or a little kid. If you insist on having a handgun, don’t hold it sideways when you shoot. You look like an idiot. Hold the danged thing straight up and down just like the big boys do.

I don’t even need to discuss guns in the country. We have them, always have had them, and always will. We know how to shoot and not hit a Grandma.

I think I’ve demonstrated that we country folk are better prepared for the collapse of society than the city people are. If that is so, what’s the chance that we’ll be invaded by refugees from the cities? I think we don’t have anything to worry about. City people aren’t coming over here for many reasons.

Firstly, our counties don’t have street lights or curbs. These things are like locating beacons in the city. Without them, people don’t know what to do.

At night places with street lights are interpreted as civilized. A lack of light means danger. Nobody wants to go into a dark alley or other place that’s dark and full of boogeymen. To city people, this entire area is dangerous because it’s dark at night.

As for curbs, all city streets have them. They’re used to let people know where to drive. Without curbs, they won’t know what to do. They’ll keep edging over to the curb and never find it. If they try to come over here, they’ll all end up in a ditch within a few miles of the city.

City folks are anonymous as they move around doing business and burning convenience stores. In our area there’s no anonymity. If I spit on the sidewalk everyone knows it before the spittle lands. Anyone that doesn’t belong stands out like an elephant on an ant hill. They’re not getting away with anything.

Lastly, city folks are afraid of us. We’re unpredictable in their minds. They think we do dangerous things for fun, and they’re right. We drive in mud, dig minerals out of the ground, and shoot cute furry things. We’ve even been known to run while carrying scissors.

Almost everyone from the city has seen the movie “Deliverance”. In the movie city guys go on a canoe trip deep in the forest and things go really bad for them. City people consider it a documentary. I tell them we call it a love story. The movie is scary enough to keep the toughest city gang-banger in his jammies drinking from a juice box.

Everyone thinks society will collapse. I’m not worried. We’ll be fine. Our President said it well when he said that people in rural America are holding on to their Bibles and guns. He is correct. He forgot to add that people in cities are holding on to their TVs and hair extensions. We’ll see who survives.

Free At Last

I’m sitting in the truck watching, trying to understand it. I’m wondering how I can ever explain it. I sit and try to understand why it’s a beautiful scene.

The Grandkids are climbing on a gravel pile. It’s sizeable by any standards, but to them it must be like climbing Everest. They take turns trying to run up the side. They slide down one side and then the other. The littlest, at 4, tries going down head first. He survives, so the bigger kids try it too.

This little play date is near the last of the summer. The kids will go back to the city, and to school. They’ll be deep into the morning rush to catch the bus. There’ll be homework and a plethora of after school activities and events before falling into an exhausted sleep.
But for now, it’s “The good Ship Summer” and Grandpa is the cruise director. The kids can’t imagine it, but Grandpa has painfully few summers left in him. He’s starting to feel the urge to make the most of the ones he has.

Maybe it’s really a grasp to catch a little of life in the moment. The kids have no thought of civilization or rules or responsibility. They’re purely in the moment. Their universe consists of their comrades, the sky, and the mountain of rock.

The previous days were spent camping, if that’s what you call it when you take your air conditioned comfort with you to the country. There were butterflies to admire, hills to climb, and frogs to chase. There was the creek, oh yes, the creek.

All the rules were broken. The slide down the muddy bank into the unpasteurized water stirred up billions of germs and other foul things. Hands weren’t washed or feet wiped. Maps were useless in the uncharted meandering stream bed. Every curve held a surprise and a new obstacle. I followed the little explorers and for a moment became 8 again, seeing this for the first time. Tomorrow could bring itchy insect bites and allergic sneezing, but not this day. This day it was just the eternal creek and its treasures.
The sun started sinking and I led the explorers back to the world.

We threw caution and common sense to the wind. After brief instructions the kids each split wood and emerged with all of their limbs intact. Their parents would never allow it, yet we ventured on. They learned about matches, and used them to light the fire. No one died, and another memory was fused into the little brains.

Our being completely out of control exhilarated us. Rules are made to be broken, and we complied. I let the kids ride in the bed of the truck, which was so alien to them they thought they’d gone to heaven. I even left my seatbelt off in disobedience to everything we’ve been taught for the last 40 years, and it felt wonderful.

The natural culmination of our civil disobedience resulted in each child, in turn, taking the wheel and driving over hill and dale. The conveyance was permeated with the fear and joy of piloting a real truck in contradiction to everything parents and police enforce.

We grew into wild things, and charted our own destinies. We had no fear of anyone or anything. Rules of etiquette and safety were alien and indecipherable. Each of us was truly free. Each of us survived and thrived without the ever present, debilitating rules against everything fun. We wore no helmets, no shin guards, and used no sanitizer. We survived. More importantly, we really lived. For them, they really lived for the first time in their lives. For me, it was the first time in decades that I’d really lived.

The sky is showing red streaks and the pile of gravel in noticeably shorter and wider. It’s time to go back to the grind of school and practice and homework. Maybe in half a century they’ll each come back and lead their Grandkids down a creek and up this very mountain of rocks. Maybe in half a century they’ll each throw caution to the wind and live free for one last summer. Maybe I’ll somehow be there with them, watching. We’ll all be truly free for just a while.